


Brains

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Bottom (UK)
Genre: Comedy, Excessive Drinking, Gen, Hammersmith Hardmen, Yuletide 2014, Yuletide Treat, Zombies, comedy violence, hunky blokes, let's doooo it, top birds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original prompt:</p><p>I love this show, the over the top violence, the stupid humour, the way I mostly end up feeling sorry for Richie and Eddie, no matter how terrible they are. I’d like them to get together. I think they’d be happier, maybe not much happier, but a bit. Failing that, something in the style of the show, or maybe a zombie apocalypse, something that would get them out the house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angledust/gifts).



“Well, I for one found it a splendid read, don’t you agree?” He nodded, enthusiastically. “So modern, so thought-provoking - quite avant garde, if I daresay,” he laughed, “Oh, thank you so much for saying so, yes, many people do tell me that I’m a brilliant literary mind. They invite me to all their dinner parties you know - yes, the birds do, the posh ones. Can’t get enough of me, embarrassing really. But what are your opinions then, which section did you find most inspiring? Oh, the bra section - yes, I couldn’t agree with you more. Well.” He flung the spring-summer 1988 Littlewoods catalogue onto floor by the bed and pulled a face. “I’m so great. Why is there never anyone around to appreciate how great I am? Oh, diddly-doo, diddly-day. What to read next, let me see, eenie, meenie,” he rifled through the pile of magazines still beside him on the bed, “miney, moe - hello Cosmo, here we go!” His eyes widened in delighted anticipation, practically bulging from his head. “Let us see now, ‘twenty sexy ways to please your man’, _oooooh_ , turn to page sixteen… _six_ -teen, more like page _sex-_ teen _, ahahaha_!” He rubbed his hands together and blew on them, leafing through the mag. Holding it up, his falling face could be seen through the gap where someone had cut out the article in question. “Damn it, Edward, _every time_.” There was a loud thud as his head fell back against the headboard. “Well. I suppose it’s getting too dark to read anyway. Or maybe it’s just my eyesight…” he held one hand worriedly in front of his face, squinting at it in the dim light. “No, no, silly - of course not, I’ve only had seven wanks today. _Christ_ , I’m bored.” Expelling a gusty sigh, he looked bleakly around at the four dark, yellowing walls enclosing him, at the tottering stacks of board games piled up on the cabinets. “I’m so ruddy bored I could do the hoovering,” he paused, the corners of his mouth pulling down in an elastic gurn of displeasure, “actually no, I’m not _that_ bored. Oh!” Sitting bolt upright, his face lit up again: from beyond the door, sounds of life were approaching - more specifically, a series of thuds, groans and inarticulate moans. “He’s home! He’s finally home, oh joyous day,” he muttered, then, louder, “Eddie! Ohhh, Eddieeee!” Only a guttural growl reached his ears in return. He smiled sweetly and hopped off the bed, throwing open his bedroom door and hurrying to the lounge, hoisting his trousers up nearer to his armpits as he went.

“Arrrghhhuuurgahahraaagh.”

“And a good evening to you too, Edward.” Richie stood in the doorway, arms folded and hip cocked, wearing his sternest expression. “And where do you think you have been for,” he consulted his wristwatch, which had stopped sometime around March 1983, “three days, young man?” He tutted. “Really, Eddie, I’ve been worried sick. You never phone!”

“Ahhhhhraaaaggaharargh!” The stumbling figure lurched towards him, eyes behind its National Health specs deep, unseeing black pits.

“You never write!”

“Argghhhhahahargh!” He reached out, a thin string of drool dripping from one corner of his slack mouth.

Richie rolled his eyes. “OK well yes, you can’t write, I suppose I’ll let you off on that one. But really, I mean,” he gave a high-pitched giggle, “just look at the state of you, you look like the living dead!”

“Eeerghhhujuuuurgh.” Agreed Eddie, and fell forward onto his face on the sticky carpet.

 

 

“Uuuuuuurgh,”

Richie cast a sidelong glance at him, then kicked him in the head where he lay. “Feeling poorly?”

“Oh God,” Eddie moaned, “a weasel is devouring my brain!”

“Bloody Hell, Eddie, I hate to think how much you drank for _you_ to get a hangover.” He aimed another kick, but Eddie rolled over and shuffled to his knees just in time to avoid it.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

Eddie considered for a moment. “What month?”

“November. And don’t you dare ask me the year. What on earth happened to you? And where’s the milk? Don’t tell me, I know you spent the money on booze.”

“Well, a funny thing…” Eddie held up one finger, unsteadily.

Richie covered his face with one hand. “I knew it. I bloody knew it. Eddie, you bastard-”

“No, no wait.” Eddie sat up, leaning against the couch. “I think something is going on. Something important. It all began three days ago…” He waved his hands, in a wavy gesture. Richie followed his vacant gaze out into the middle-distance.

“It all began three days ago. I was on my way to spend the milk money on a half of mild-“

“Edward Hitler, you complete wan-“

“Don’t interrupt again Richie, or I will headbutt you in the balls.”

“Right you are, Eddie.”

“I was on my way to spend the milk money on a half of mild, when what do I see but a bloke, passed out on the pavement. Well, there was only one thing any civilised person could do.”

“Nick his wallet?”

“Abso-bloody-lutely! So I nicked his wallet. But I wasn’t even halfway to the pub when what do I come across, but another bloke, passed out cold he was. So I nicked his wallet.” Richie nodded sagely in approval. “And I carried on to the pub. But then guess what?”

“What Eddie, _what_?! Was it Angela Rippon in a bikini made of cheese slices? Ooof-“ He grunted loudly as Eddie rabbit-punched him in the gut without looking.

“No. But nice one. But no - it was another unconscious bloke. So I took his wallet and then funny thing was, I woke up here.” He hiccupped. Richie closed his eyes.

“You had three wallets full of cash-a-lolly and you spent it all - all of it, every last shiny penny - on booze? Eddie.” He shook his head, lips pursed together in an angry line, “Quite frankly, I’m disappointed in you. Do you know how long I’ve been stuck in this flat with nobody to talk to?”

“…three days? That’s just a guess, but-“

“THREE DAYS! Three whole days with no company but myself-“

“Well actually when you put it like that I do feel a bit guilty, that must have been terrible.”

“And so you should feel guilty, young fellow-me-lad! We have no electricity - no lights, no television, no radio. No fridge actually, so it’s a good job you didn’t get the milk really.” He fell silent as Eddie wagged a finger at him.

“Aha! Ahahahahaha!” From an inside pocket of his jacket, Eddie produced something. “I didn’t spend _all_ of it, see.”

“Fifty pee?” Richie sighed. “Oh well. I suppose it’s better than nothing. Let’s go and feed Mister Meter.”

 

 

The blue glow of the television illuminated their disbelieving faces.

“Well, that explains all the unconscious people, then.” Richie said.

“Yep.”

“Oh Eddie… what are we going to _do_?”

“Well, I vote stay here. Won’t be much different from what we normally do.”

“But we can’t stay here. We have no milk!”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Bugger the milk, you’re not getting me setting foot outside that door again!”

“And we’ve no booze left in the whole flat except that quarter bottle of Crème de Menthe I hid in the toilet cistern.”

“Are you coming or what?” said Eddie, one hand on the front door knob and the other putting his hat on.

 

 

“Eddie. I don’t like it, Eddie,” Richie said. The streets were eerily deserted, just approaching dusk, a time when drunks should be stumbling, gangs of feral children roaming, pensioners spending their bookie wins at the pub. Even the street corners were bereft of drug dealers and prozzies. A chill, whining wind blew crisp packets and johnny wrappers in miniature cyclones in the gutters and the streetlamps flickered.

“Looks pretty much your average Tuesday night to me,” Eddie sniffed, “Geroff me!” He shook Richie’s clinging hands off his elbow. “Look, there’s somebody else now.” He nodded blearily towards the approaching duo of figures that were weaving unsteadily from one side of the pavement to the other. Richie’s hands immediately reattached to his arm with a vice-like grip as he cowered behind him.

“Eddie… Eddie, do you suppose… that they’re _them_.”

“Them? Them who?”

“Those… those things, like on the telly.”

Eddie screwed up his face and squinted towards the hideously lurching creatures that were now making good headway towards them. The dim orange streetlights cast them in horrible silhouette, hulking and unsteady. A terrible stench began to accost their nostrils, wafting in the creatures’ wake. Eddie began to chuckle. “You’re scared!”

“Am not!”

“Yes you are. You’re shitting your pants!”

Richie wrinkled his nose and shrank further behind his companion’s back. “No Eddie, I think the niff’s them.”

“Oh, fair enough, you may be right.” They were almost upon them now, the shambling monstrosities. “You’re still scared though.”

Richie drew in a deep breath, choked a bit on the whiff, then drew himself up to his full height, sticking his considerable gut staunchly out. Bravely he sidestepped from behind Eddie. “I jolly well am not. Bring it on, I say, denizens of the night! Ohhhh, dark day, ohhhh dreadful hour! The walking dead are abroad!”

“Abroad? Well that’s miles away, what are we worried about then-”

 Richie cast him a sneer. “But I’ll tell you what, I’m not going down without a bloody good fisticuffs.” He slapped enthusiastically at the air in front of him.

“You’re going to run away, aren’t you?” said Eddie.

“Too effing right I am.” Richie poised for flight, as the largest of the figures reached out a huge claw towards them.

“Eddie?” It said.

“Ohhh, bloody Hell,” Richie sounded more disappointed than anything. “It’s only Spudgun. And Dave Hedgehog with him, what are you two losers doing here?”

“Alright Eddie,” Dave Hedgehog said, nervously eyeing Richie who was still in fight stance, leering. “There’s been a bit of a to-do ain’t there. Thought it best to go the pub.”

“The pub, yeah,” Spudgun repeated, sidestepping slowly and cautiously out of Richie’s range. “Is she alright?” He stage whispered to Eddie.

“No. He most certainly isn’t - oh, you mean, is he one of those,” Eddie pantomimed shambling, his arms stuck out stiffly in front of him. “No, he’s not one of those.”

Spudgun nodded in relief at Dave Hedgehog. “Only, it’s hard to tell really, what with the smell and that.”

“Oi! That is not me, I’ll have you know - oi!” Richie shouted as all three nodded assent.

Then, “Hang on, pipe down!” Dave Hedgehog said, his pale face paling even more. He gave a nervous little squeak. “What was that? That noise?”

“Oh sorry,” Richie gave an embarrassed little giggle, “that _was_ me - oh, no,” his eyes became perfectly round with shock, “you mean _that_ noise?”

“Yes, that sort of, moany, growly, flesh-eating undead sort of noise,” Eddie clarified helpfully, “the one that those flesh-eating undead types over there are making.”

“RUN!” All four of them shouted in unison.

 

 

“You absolute shower of berks!” Dick Head was yelling quite loudly for someone who was telling people off for being too loud. “You led them right here!”

Dave Hedgehog, who had been looking increasingly frayed since their run in outside, winced. Resounding thumps could be heard on the front door of the Lamb and Flag, but thankfully the life-impaired crowd gathering outside hadn’t seemed to have noticed the windows yet - and even if they did, they were still mostly boarded up from the aftermath of the last pub quiz. “We didn’t mean to,” Richie quavered, “they just sort of… followed us.”

“Because you were screaming like a little girl and waving your hands in the air!”

“That wasn’t me, it was Spud _gun_.” Richie planted his hands on his hips and stuck his crotch out, glaring pointedly, whilst Spudgun looked around in confusion, still out of puff from all the unaccustomed exertion and Dave Hedgehog recoiled bodily from the upsetting thrust.

“I think you’ll find it was probably all of us to be fair,” said Eddie, charitably. He’d already wandered behind the bar and was taking advantage of Dick’s apocalyptic distraction by helping himself to the Malibu.

“Yes. Well.” Richie flipped his hair back, smoothing it greasily across his forehead. “We’re here now. Safety in numbers and all that.” He laughed, nervously. The moans outside the door were getting louder.

“There’s more in their number than in ours,” said Dick, darkly.

“Well… I’m sure a policeman will be along any moment to sort things out, and until then let’s all have a lovely time and enjoy a nice evening together. Hey!” His eyes lit up, manically, “Hey guys, who’s for a jolly old game of Give Us a Clue?”

A terrifying wail issued forth and everyone looked towards the door, before realising that it had burst from the lips of Dave Hedgehog, who now shot bolt upright from the chair on which he had been fitfully perched. “I can’t take it anymore!” He shouted, “Anything but another game of Give Us a Clue with her!”

“Dave, no!” Spudgun called, but it was too late. In his blind panic Dave Hedgehog had already reached the front door of the pub and yanked it open, letting in a tumble of shambling undead.

“You didn’t lock the bloody door?” Asked Eddie.

Dick shrugged. “They don’t seem to understand door knobs so it seemed a bit of a waste of effort. Quick! To the back room!”

 

 

“We could have gone upstairs, you know,” said Dick. “This wasn’t exactly what I meant by ‘back room’.”

They all looked around at the cramped and pungent surroundings of the men’s lavatory. “Well, we would have done, if Richie hadn’t gone and stopped to chat up that bird,” Eddie replied.

“Well, I am so very sorry! Pardon me if it’s the end of the world and I want to get in _one_ ,” he punctuated the words with a subtle thrust, “ _last_ … _shag_!”

“One _first_ shag you mean,” said Eddie. Dave and Spudgun tittered, quietly.

“Well OK, Mister Casa-know-it-all,” Richie pulled a face, “but you saw her back there! She couldn’t keep her hands off me, because I’m just _soooo_ hunky!”

“Yeah, Richie, I don’t think she was after your body in the way you think she was.”

“Ooooh, jealous are we? Because she had really, really cracking jugs?”

“Richie, half her face was missing.”

“Yes, well,” Richie pursed his lips, “nobody’s perfect.” He sighed, expressively. “I suppose this is it, then. Can’t go out the window, there’s loads of them out there. No other door. Is this how the great Richard Richard is to die? In the mens’ bogs, surrounded by you load of tossers? Oh, cru-el world, oh irony of life.”

“At least we’ll be OK if one of us needs a wee,” pointed out Spudgun, as the door to the toilets finally gave way with a resounding crack of splintering wood. “Oops. Too late.”

The mangled masses spilled into the tiny space of the toilet, like the Tube at rush hour but a little bit more lively. The woman with half a face reached out again to Richie. “Quick, Eddie! Twot her!” he squealed.

“What with?!” Eddie looked frantically around but saw nothing that wasn’t nailed down. His gaze went from the half full bottle of midori in his hand, to Richie, and back again. Then he shrugged, and pushed Richie at the clutching woman, tipping back his bottle for one last swig.

 

 

“It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it,” said Richie, conversationally.

“Not really,” said Eddie, and burped. Next to him, Spudgun chuckled, but Dave Hedgehog and Dick were too drunk to say much at all.

“No, I mean - it is. I mean, look at us all, us lads, the Hammersmith Hard Men,” he grinned around at the dingy back room of the pub, which was littered with empty bottles. “We thought we were going to have a really horrid day but it actually turned out quite nice in the end didn’t it? Didn’t it, guys?” He nudged Dave Hedgehog with his foot, but Dave just whimpered in his sleep and instinctively curled up into a foetal position on the greasy carpet.

“You know Richie, you may have a point there.” Eddie cracked open another bottle, blearily trying to focus on the label. “It certainly ended up better than I anticipated.”

“Zombies. Pfft!” Richie rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I’ve seen scarier crowds at the Bingo. What is it that they’re meant to eat, again?”

Eddie frowned in his effort to remember. “Erm. Brains, isn’t it?”

“Oh, oh yes! Brains.” Richie smiled, as if recalling a pleasant summer memory. “Isn’t it funny how they just left us all alone? Why do you think that was, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugged and burped. “Dunno. Just lucky I suppose.” He offered the newly opened bottle. “Drambuie?” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I was made up to see Bottom on the Yuletide list - I love that show and I hope I did it justice and that you enjoy your treat, thanks for an excellent request and happy holidays! :)


End file.
